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Everything has a Price
Faire Trade Slim sighed. He couldn't feel his right arm anymore and his vision was getting fuzzy as he became more and more lightheaded. "Again? Why?" His voice was a mixture of confusion and anger. The stranger sitting across from him said nothing, instead tossing another pouch full of payment Slim's way. Slim pulled the drawstring bag open, revealing the treasure inside. This time it was a bushel of Time Mandrakes. The smell was unmistakable; they had to be at least one hundred years old, a perfect vintage. There were at least six or seven in the bag; it was a Goblin Merchant's dream haul, especially considering the nature of the deal. Any onlooker would see the scales heavily dipped in Slim's favor, but the pain coursing in his chest still made him reconsider his options. Setting the bag on the floor beside his bloodstained chair, Slim reshuffled. A transaction had been made. Slim refilled the ingredients on the table. Taking the grave dirt in his hand, he poured a fistful into the pestle with a pinch of charcoal to get the consistency right. After they mixed thoroughly, Slim annoited his own forehead with an Eastern cross as he spoke the practiced invocation over the deck of 52. The circles drawn on the table, while heavily used, still begin to glow in unholy light in their turn. Slim stabbed the iron needle into his forearm for the sixth time today and felt the tunnel vision set in. Blood leaked from his eyes in all directions as the sun cowered in fear of the ritual being performed, sent beyond the horizon by the Wrathful darkness claiming the room. Slim looked up to see his stolen 'Exit' sign above his portal to Houston shining its pale red light onto the table, the only thing still visible in the Hollow. His thoughts drifted towards escape, the idea of running from the table and the stranger across from him into the exit so clearly in front of him, the only thing in front of him he could actually see, percieve. His eyes began to roll back into his head, the world of dreams attempting to claim him, but a deal is a deal to Slim Devil. He shook his head, a downtrodden expression on his face, and drew the first three cards, placing them in the requisite triangle pointing towards him, the reader. In the top-right the Ivory Throne asserted its authority, alone in its vigil but wielding control over its subjects with a gentle but stalwart hand. Placed in the circle of Heaven, the Ivory Throne stood for justice and retribution. In the top-left the Sophist of Snakes coiled beneath its robes. Its placement set it in opposition to the Throne across from it, and its location in the circle of Hell suited the Sophist's calculating nature. Here the Sophist would work in the shadows, knife ready to plunge into the back of its chosen marque. Down in the bottom, the circle of Judgement, was the Council of Tragedy and Comedy. It is a frightening omen for such a card to be drawn and placed here, but the cards had spoken as they already had multiple times. "I still can't believe it..." Slim felt the life draining from him. These three cards had always appeared in this exact order whenever the stranger behested a reading. The stranger had been frequenting Slim more and more lately, each time paying him handsomely with rare odds and ends of an ever-changing variety. Their focus for the reading was always the same: The Silver Bullet Motley. "There? Are you happy? Same as always-" Slim gasped for air, barely able to finish speaking. His forehead burned as the cross of dirt died down from a contained blaze to orange embers. Slim couldn't remember where he kept the aloe anymore. He'd likely scar. "The final card, Slim. The centre circle. I want to know the Battlefield." The stranger spoke. They were direct without an ounce of anxiousness or annoyance in their speech. Slim couldn't move his arms anymore. He slumped back in his chair, the wall between Consciousness and Dreams shattering with a palpable force for the powerful willworker. Roy stepped through the cracks in Slim's mind. Slim knew he wasn't real, but lacked the life left in his body to wave off the hallucination. Roy smiled only slightly, speaking with an indignant kindness. "What's wrong, old man? You bled me more than this for a fifth the pay you're getting for this! Get yourself together!!" Roy straightened Slim's tie, helped him sit up, and grabbed a chair of his own, propping his feet up on the table and putting his hands on the back of his head. His grin widened. The stranger was invisible to him, and he to the stranger. "Well?" The stranger grew impatient. Slim took a deep breath, exhaled, and drew the final card, the only variable the stranger's readings ever had. "Tartarus. Pillar of the Dead and Gauntlet of Burdens Chosen. As the Battlefield, Tartarus stands for a trial no man should face. The righteous make the climb alone; the vile in spirit claw the heights in clans. Both seek the light at the tower's peak, though no one can see it shining." Slim furrowed his brow, his eyes coming back into focus, if only momentarily. Roy was gone. The stranger stood up, their grim demeanor telling Slim they did not like what they heard. He worried they would ask for another reading, but they turned and left without a word. Slim sighed, his bloodied arm hanging limply beside him as he whispered "Ice King, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Category:Fiction